


Lists I'll Never Finish

by alicecoldwater



Category: Arrow (TV 2012)
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, Morning After, Morning Sex, Oral Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Shower Sex, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-16
Updated: 2014-12-16
Packaged: 2018-03-01 19:22:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,205
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2784794
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alicecoldwater/pseuds/alicecoldwater
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Oliver and Felicity share their first morning together. Smutty fluffiness for the long hiatus.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lists I'll Never Finish

**Author's Note:**

> After the angst-fest that has been Season 3A, I really needed to just jump ahead to these two happy, in love, and you know...enjoying sexy times. So, here is a little holiday gift to the wonderful Olicity fandom, with hopes for a happier, brighter New Year for all of us.
> 
> (Also, I write here under a different pseud, one that is known to RL people, so this is a new name for smutty things.)

Felicity is still blinking away the sawdust feeling in her eyes when Oliver comes back through the bedroom door. His eyes meet hers and his face brightens into a smile like a sunbeam. Without a word, he slips back into bed next to her. She rolls over, back into his warmth, clasping her hands across his lower back, and nuzzling her face into his chest. “Good morning,” she murmurs against him.

“Morning,” he replies, kissing the top of her head.

She tilts her face up and he kisses that too; her eyelids, her nose, finally her lips. Soft, light kisses, and then one that lingers, turns heavier. Oliver’s lips urge hers open, and then--

“Hey--” Felicity says, pushing back slightly. “Hey, wait.”

“Hmmm?” Oliver’s half-lidded eyes are still focused on her lips.

“You brushed your teeth!”

His head falls sideways as a laugh escapes him. “Yeah, I did.”

She huffs, “But that’s--! That’s not fair!”

“I thought you’d appreciate it.”

“Well, I do,” she eyerolls, “but I’d appreciate it more if we were on an even playing field.” He raises his eyebrows, waiting for her to elaborate. “I mean, I’m lying here with a completely full bladder, teeth unbrushed, hair—I don’t even want to imagine—in this bed, in these sheets, which are frankly...I don’t know if I should wash them or like maybe have them bronzed…? At any rate, they’re, you know, well-used. And so am I! And this just isn’t fair, you coming back in here all fresh and clean.”

Oliver laughs, “Felicity, I lived for years on Lian Yu. This is a non-issue for me. But I don’t want you to be uncomfortable, so do whatever you need to do. Because I intend to make these sheets even filthier before breakfast.”

Felicity swallows, then clears her throat and says, “Well, that was very persuasive. But, I’m going to take a little me-time anyway.” She kisses him on the lips briefly, then trails three kisses down his neck, to his shoulder. “Be right back,” she says, sliding out of bed. At the door to her en suite bathroom, she breaks into a little smile and says, “After I take a quick shower.” Oliver drops his head back to the pillow in defeat.

Over the time she’s known him, Felicity’s developed a mental gallery—sort of a list, because that’s the way her brain works—of things she wants to do with him. To him. And over the course of the night, she made a real dent in that list. Now, she takes her time brushing her teeth, putting in her contacts, twisting her hair up in a bun on the top of her head. She spends those minutes running over those items. She relives a particularly excellent moment from their explosive first time, which reminds her of this thing he did the third time, and a cry—did that really come out of her mouth?—and then that look on his face when she….

Felicity shakes her head, then her whole body, and she starts the water running and steps into the tub. Tilting her head away, she holds her loofah in the shower flow and pours a little bodywash over it. As she starts to scrub, she notices a little reddish patch on the top of her right breast, and she knows immediately that it was from his stubble, from the third time. The hard and fast time. Her thighs clench together involuntarily, and she refocuses on the loofah.

She’s facing the flow of water, rinsing the lather off her arms, when she hears the curtain shift. She smirks to herself before turning around to find giant, naked, rock-hard Oliver behind her.

“I had a little bet going with myself about how long you would wait,” she says. “I lost, for the record. I thought you’d make it at least another five minutes.”

He shrugs, “Just thought I’d even the playing field.”

She gives him a sarcastic nod, then says, “Here,” reaching for his arm and sliding past him, shifting him under the shower head. “Get warm.”

He obliges, but never takes his eyes off her. Felicity can’t help but glance downward, to his...well, his cock. She’s never been particularly comfy with any of the common terms for the male anatomy, but in this case, cock is really the only thing that will do, so to speak.

It’s a fairly small tub so Felicity barely moves before that hard heat is pressing against her abdomen, as she goes up on her toes to kiss him. This time, the kiss is immediately heavy—heat and tongue and moans, wet hands slipping all over wet skin. Oliver’s run up and down her back, then flatten over her hips, over the curve of her ass, squeezing and urging her closer to him.

But Felicity keeps some space between them, because she has plans for him. She slides a finger down his chest, then all her fingers over his magnificent abs, down that trail to his pelvis—the one that practically taunts her when he’s shirtless in his leathers—until she finds his—yeah, okay, his cock. A shudder runs through his midsection, seeming to transform into a groan in his throat, as she wraps her hand around him. She catches his lip between her teeth, gently, and then breaks the kiss. When she looks at him, his eyes are dark and intent, lips slightly parted--a look she thinks she may never entirely get used to, may always be powerless against; a look she knows she wears as well.

And then she bends, her lips following the trail her fingers made, and Oliver inhales sharply and hisses, “Felicity,” as he realizes what she’s doing.

“Shhhhh,” she whispers, planting a kiss below his navel, getting situated on her knees. She slips her hand over his tip, down the shaft, wraps it around the base. Oliver’s breathing is shaky; without looking, she can tell his jaw is clenched. His hands in her hair are jittery too, and she stills for a moment to let him settle.

When he does, she licks a path away from her hand. Oliver lets out a harsh breath, quickly followed by a “Fuck,” when her lips close around the head. And just like that, he is in her mouth. Her lips and her tongue are sliding over the ridges and planes and curves of his truly remarkable cock. She takes her time, getting to know the feeling of him, tasting him, testing for his reactions, and she’s rewarded with rasping strings of sounds and half-words. “Ahhhhh…shhhh -- hmmmm -- Felisss -- fuh -- FUCK -- fffffffffuck -- oh my god -- fe _LICITY_ , my god.”

And then his hands are on her shoulders, gently pressing her away from him, pulling his hips back a bit. She releases him and looks up. He’s flushed and she can see his pulse pounding in his neck. “I want to...” he trails off, breathlessly, and then he lifts her by the arms and she gets the message. Oliver kisses her savagely, desperately, and she wonders for the millionth time in 12 hours why and how on Earth they avoided doing this for so long.

And then all thoughts cease, because Oliver’s hand is between her thighs, easing them apart. Without any sort of teasing, he simply slides a finger into her. And then out. And this time another finger joins on the way in, and his thumb presses firmly against her clit.

A moan comes from somewhere, probably from her, she thinks vaguely, as Oliver works his thumb in a circle, never breaking contact, never letting up on the pressure, and after a minute Felicity’s lips fall away from his. He immediately bends to kiss her breasts, licking all around her nipple before pulling it into his mouth, then following with the other. She can feel herself beginning a crescendo, and her hand goes to his wrist against her pelvis and she stills it. With her other hand, she lifts his chin back to her level. Confusion flickers in his eyes, and then slowly, Felicity turns away from him. She places one palm against the cool tile wall, and the other guides his hand around her hip.

She looks at him over her shoulder, and she smiles, “Just ticking a few more boxes on the list of things I’ve wanted to do with you since...well, let’s just call it a long time and leave it at that.”

Oliver shakes his head slightly, his look of wonder slowly replaced by a little smirk. “I didn’t keep a list, but if I did...all of this? Right at the top. Those goddamn skirts of yours…”

And with that, his cock is pressing against her backside and she stops breathing for a second. She lets go of his hand and reaches behind her to guide the hard length of him between her thighs, angling her hips back and up until his tip brushes against her entrance, and then slides in.

They both let out a long breath when he is fully inside, and a rush goes through her whole body at the feeling of him filling her from this angle. He moves gently within her. His hands work over her hips, paying special attention to her ass, palms sliding up the sides of her torso, down her arms, covering her hands against the tile, interlacing their fingers. Then, as he thrusts into her slowly, he trails his right hand back down her torso, over her abdomen and down until his fingers find that tiny inflamed mound.

With just the slightest pressure, her knees buckle and she lets out a low cry. Oliver’s left hand clenches around hers against the wall, and then he begins thrusting with more force. Longer strokes, picking up speed. And now she can feel him hit that elusive spot inside her, and she rocks her hips back into him so that they find it together again and again. Oliver’s finger continues to work a rhythm on her clit, matching the speed of his thrusts, and when she closes her eyes, all she can feel is him, all around her, inside and out.

And all she hears is a rushing sound—the blood behind her ears or the flow of water or maybe it’s their heaving breaths, but probably all three—and then nothing at all. She’s climbing, climbing, like a rollercoaster car approaching the peak, until all at once she’s flying over the edge, and her only thought is his name, which she cries, over and over and over.

Oliver follows seconds after, hips bucking against hers, a now-familiar groan ripping from his throat, reverberating against her neck, where his mouth comes to rest. She can feel his heartbeat against her back. They hold onto each other that way until their breathing evens out, and then Oliver steps back and she turns into him, once more savoring the feeling of his heat against her.

He turns them both, as one, so that Felicity is under the flow of water, then he grabs a bar of soap and hands her her loofah with a shy little smile. They both manage to bathe, but awkwardly, bending and ducking to avoid each other’s limbs.

She’s out first and is slipping into a shift dress when Oliver walks back into her bedroom. Pulling a t-shirt over his head, he sighs, “First item on the list for our new place: bigger shower.”

Felicity stops zipping her dress and looks him full in the face; she can see that he didn’t really intend to say that, not exactly. There’s a small, nervous smile tugging at the corners of his mouth, and he coughs out a tiny laugh, then stammers, “I--I should probably ask you out on an actual date first. Before talking about moving in together? I’m sorry; somehow I keep finding new ways to screw this part up. Just can’t seem to get it right.”

She studies him for a minute and then says, “I don’t know. Doesn’t sound so wrong to me.” His eyes dart to hers and she continues, slowly, “I mean, are you thinking like a loft, or like a _house_ -house? Because I think something downtown would probably make the most sense for now, but someday down the road, I could see us in a real house with a little garden and a home theater and, ooh, maybe a server room...”

Oliver’s face goes full sunrise and fireworks and double-rainbow, and he closes the distance between them, pulling her in for a big smacking kiss. “I love you.”

“I love you,” she beams back at him, wrapping her arms behind his neck. Then she puts on a serious face again, “Okay, back to this shower thing, though: one of those stone walk-in porno showers with like 86 shower-heads at every possible angle? Or just like a really awesome double soaker tub?”

“Yes. Both of those.” He peppers her with kisses. “Anything. Whatever it is that you want.”

“Oh. Well, I already have that,” she smiles. It’s a short list. Everything she could ever want, right here in this six foot-one inch package. House and giant shower optional.


End file.
